I am a work of kintsukuroi;

I have been shattered and broken,

My pieces have laid scattered on the floor,

But I have always puzzled myself back together,

Using gold lacquer to fill in the cracks like glue,

And I am more beautiful for my wreckages.

I hit the ground the day I found out

That I was no longer daddy’s little angel, but that he was now mine,

And there was no bandaid to hold together the pieces of a five-year-old’s broken heart.

But this did not stop me from gathering all the shards of my heart off the floor,

Cleaning out the dirt from my cuts,

And standing back up on my young and eager feet;

For I always believed that Humpty Dumpty could have still risen after his great fall.

The result of my temporary destruction

Was not purple and blue scars accompanied by hidden hands and shameful tears.

Instead there was gold that glistened in place of the missing shards

And I swear I shined so bright my dad saw me from the heavens. 

Pain is a side effect to life that everyone is victim to.

To be alive is to fall and shatter and lay in a scattered mess of oneself.

But it is at that point that one becomes a work of kintsukuroi;

A damaged work of art put back together

With gold lacquer in place of the absent pieces.

And it is understood that they are now more beautiful for having being damaged.

I am more beautiful for my downfalls;

I am a work of kintsukuroi. 

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